A wave of bliss overtook Angie as she snuggled against Parker and swayed in his arms. The sound system was playing “Crazy Love” by Van Morrison as he sang in her ear.

She was glad the wedding reception was at the Villa. It felt immensely right to have this assemblage of people, at this time and in this place, gathered for a happy occasion. Her grandparents and the generations of the Valleja-Marquez family who lived on this land and even in this wonderful old house could be proud of the way things were turning out.

When Draegyn approached and asked to cut in, Parker glared at him. She bit her tongue to keep from grinning.

“Fuck off, St. John.”

“Dude.” Drae chortled. “You dance like Forrest Gump. Just trying to save Angie from the indignity.”

As he strolled away laughing, Parker growled. “Motherfucker needs some manners.”

Since she’d know Parker her whole life and had grown up accepting that he and Alex were basically brothers, it made her laugh whenever Drae played the second wife card. It was entertaining as all hell to see grown men act like high school girls competing over the captain of the football team. And Alex, of course, encouraged the behavior.

“We’re next,” she purred. “Hold me tighter.”

He pulled her closer and murmured in her ear, “Next?”

“To be married, silly.” She giggled into his chest.

“Two months,” he reminded her.

Ah, yes. Two months until the Marquez-Sullivan nuptials. She smiled. Parker was turning out to be a reality show bridezilla. He had made every vendor in the city crazy over different shades of sapphire. The man knew what he wanted and made sure that was what he got.

In fact, he approached the whole wedding thing with brutal calculation. Breaking it down into different segments, he tackled each with his usual efficiency. The smartest thing she’d done was turn the whole thing over to him. While she would be fine with a drive-thru wedding chapel and an Elvis impersonator—it didn’t matter to her as long as it ended with a wedding ring—he came at the matter from the other direction.

In a way, she probably needed the wedding and his handling of it as a reminder of who Matthew and Parker Sullivan were in their social circles. She just wanted to marry the hot guy she’d been in love with her whole life. It took a society wedding to drive home the point that she was becoming the wife of an important man. A man who she suspected was under heavy and sustained pressure to throw his hat into the political ring. And if politics wasn’t his thing, then there was the whole judgeship angle.

Some fly-by-night affair wasn’t going to cut it.

“Are you going to tell me where our honeymoon is?” She’d wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled at his handsome face.

“Nope.”

She made a face. “But I won’t know what to pack.”

He leered at her. “About that. You won’t be needing clothes.”

Heat ricocheted inside her. That look suggested all sorts of wickedness.

Leaning back slightly for a better view of his face made her pelvis rub against his big body. For the briefest of moments, she felt his hand move to her ass, grab hold, and force her even closer. It ended quickly, though—to her displeasure. Too many people around and far too many knowing eyes.

“Parker Sullivan,” Angie purred. “While I am always at your service”—she snickered with no sincerity—“I will not be deprived of a fabulous honeymoon trousseau.”

“Angelina Marquez,” he countered in his sexy lawyer voice. “Are you disobeying your soon-to-be husband? Already?”

She laughed merrily. Next to them on the improvised dance floor, Heather and Brody glided by. The two men slapped palms as they passed. Angie was sure her face mirrored Heather’s blissed-out expression.

“Everyone excels at something,” she murmured when snuggling deeper into Parker’s arms.

The deep chuckles rumbling in his chest reverberated against the side of her face. “Is that your way of saying disobedience is your superpower, and I should just deal with it?”

Angie smiled into his suit jacket. “Depends on what you mean by deal with it.”

They continued to sway with the song. He didn’t say anything. Sometimes keeping up with his legal mind tested her self-confidence. Her lover had a way of working through a situation in his mind that did not match her way of doing things. Spur of the moment and half-cocked was her MO. Parker? Not so much.

His hand rested possessively on her bottom as they returned to the corner of the outdoor terrace that they’d claimed as their own. The heavy, wood patio swing had been her go-to as a kid when she’d needed space. Over the years, she and Parker had spent many hours there. Only back then, they were both fighting the crazy attraction they couldn’t reveal to the world.

Scooting to the corner of the swing to allow him ample space, she melted when he placed his big hand on her neck and gently claimed her lips. As he bent over her, she was engulfed by his solid presence.

Parker’s kisses were her drug of choice. The things he did with his lips, tongue, and teeth made her want more. More of everything—especially his wicked mouth on every inch of her naked skin.

It was tough not to grab his tie, yank, and pull him over until his powerful body had her pinned beneath him.

But she didn’t. Once again, too many people around. Angie knew her part—knew what he liked and what spoke to his manhood—so she used this knowledge to signal exactly where she currently registered on the disobedient scale.

Legs crossed, the demur cocktail dress she wore for the wedding draping her legs just above the knee, she put her hands on her lap and sat straight as he devoured her mouth. He knew that by holding her neck, she’d be instantly subdued. The thought made her tremble with need.

What was it about this aspect of their relationship that held her in such thrall? She wasn’t a pushover or wimp by any stretch of the imagination. Matter of fact, she’d more than earned her desert angel bona fides due in large measure to her naturally insubordinate nature.

However, when it came to the nitty gritty with Parker, she couldn’t submit fast enough. Something about the intensity of his focus when he exerted his dominance called to her soul.

Stroking the delicate column of her neck after finishing with her mouth, he looked deeply into her gaze.

“How would you like me to deal with it?” he asked in a deceptively mild and silky voice. The devilish glint in his eyes was not deceptive, mild, or silky.

The words rushed out of her stupid mouth before she could stop them. “Maybe it’s time to break in the spanking bench.”

He shut down so fast she flinched. Dammit. Now was not the time to broach the subject of why their naughty playroom had become off-limits after their first experience. His refusal to discuss it or go near the room deeply unsettled her.

Had she made an error? Was the environment not pleasing to him? Or god forbid, had he been turned off by what happened that first time?

He didn’t say, “Hold that thought,” or indicate by anything other than a clenched jaw that he’d heard what she said.

“Champagne,” was all he said before walking off and leaving her to dangle on the edge of the swing.

* * *

At the bar set up on the edge of the terrace, Parker tried to act normal. As he went to grab some champagne, he knew that marching off without acknowledging what Angie said was a dumb move. But he didn’t want to discuss the playroom. Not yet.

Moving by rote, he set two champagne flutes side by side and reached for the open bottle of Bollinger as his thoughts bounced all over the place.

What the fuck had he been thinking by letting her unleash a shit-ton of fantasy and eye-opening desire on a room designed solely for the erotic arts? Was he insane?

No. Not insane—more like thinking with his dick. Pushing the boundaries of Angie’s potent sexuality had consumed him when she was still a teenager and hadn’t waned at all after fate brought them together again. Her love for and willingness to please him was boundless, joyful, and scary.

His desert angel was more than a handful—a thought that made him smile. He liked her handfuls. She challenged him in ways he was surprised to admit left him feeling inadequate. And unsure.

And right there was the root of his dilemma. He didn’t have a fucking clue what he was doing.

What started out as fun, games, and a way to indulge his sexy mate’s passions had shown him a simple fact in one encounter that he’d foolishly either overlooked or ignored.

She was giving him unconditional access to her whole being. Handing over the keys to a kingdom he wasn’t sure he could handle.

Having experienced the world of exclusive, private sex clubs and a ton of porn over the years, he knew where this thing was going. He had an inventive mind and understood what she expected, but he was embarrassed to admit he didn’t know what the hell he was doing.

He remembered saying that he liked the idea of her wearing a collar when they were playing, and she’d melted at the suggestion. That was the precise moment he knew what being in over his head felt like.

There was an element of Daddy Dom in their playtimes that both made him hard as stone and freaked him out. Angie craved his … his what?

Shit.

His eyes picked up movement nearby. He turned his head and found Alex standing over Meghan with her chin in his hand as he looked down at her. Parker could see her face. The way she looked at her husband reminded him of how Angie looked at him.

He knew for the most part that Alex and Meghan enjoyed their own take on a traditional but informal dominant-submissive relationship. It wasn’t something they talked about, but on more than a few occasions, Alex had hinted at things that ticked off the boxes on a D/s checklist.

But asking him questions or expecting any sort of guy talk was a big old no. They were closer than brothers, but some things were off-limits. Alex wasn’t brain-dead. He knew what floated Parker’s sexual boat and vice versa. It was all well and good until Angie came back into his life. After that—he was lucky to keep his natural teeth and was aware every day of how close Alex came to knocking him the fuck out for what he knew was going on in the bedroom.

Pouring cold champagne into the flutes, he smiled at Cam and gave him a what’s-up head nod when he strolled by. Light streamed from the downstairs windows while occasional ripples of laughter and happy voices drifted in the cool evening air.

Everywhere he looked, life was happening. It was a good feeling. This place and these people filled him with happiness and excitement for whatever the future held.

Now if only he could figure out this one issue. Was he capable of giving Angie what she wanted? What she needed? Did he see himself as a dominant, and if the answer was yes, what did that mean?

Sex was one thing, but this went light-years beyond kink in the bedroom.

He wasn’t sure his greedy passion for his desert angel was entirely controllable. And a Dom had to exercise control at all times and in all things. Could he balance his impatient appetite with her needs? Not only in an intimate way but also in the real world.

Until he had some answers, the playroom would continue to be out-of-bounds. They weren’t stepping foot through the door until he understood the full and wide-ranging ramifications of what he’d be allowing.

She was sulking when he came back with the champagne. The confusion in her expression made Parker want to kick his own ass. But the tiny sparkle in her eyes also told him she wasn’t going to let this go.

Taking the spot next to his woman, he handed off her glass, offered a smile and tapped her flute with his. “To happily ever afters.”

He started to relax while they chatted about nothing. Maybe he was wrong, and she’d back off to keep the peace. A coward’s escape hatch but he’d take it however he could.

Eventually, they wandered into the house hand in hand and made the rounds. Feeling pride in her extraordinary confidence and the easy way she had with people, Parker enjoyed himself.

His mom, of course, fawned over Angie. So did his dad. Having declared her unusually pretty this evening and suggesting that she outshone the bride, Parker rolled his eyes at his dad and chuckled as their lively conversation took a turn to the absurd, courtesy of Sophie.

“Aunt Wendy,” she called out. “Settle a dispute, would you?”

Dragging a bemused Finn by the lapels of his suit, Sophie went to the designated family referee and stated her case.

“Okay. Once and for all. Glenfiddich or that pisswater Jameson?”

“Objection,” he drawled into Sophie’s stone cold sober expression. “Leading the witness.”

“She’s not a witness, Counselor. She’s the judge. Now back off and let your mother speak.”

Finn muttered, “Kangaroo court, much?”

At his side, Angie giggled and reached again for his hand.

“Well, let’s see,” his mom said. “In the interest of fairness, I think it’s best to state that pisswater has merits.”

Sophie slapped Finn on the chest. “See?” She snickered. “Told ya. Pisswater.”

Finn’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not what she said. I believe what Mrs. Sullivan was trying to get out before you interrupted is that everything has value. Even pisswater.”

Parker squeezed Angie’s fingers when Sophie met Finn’s fierce gaze with her own. Having his childhood friend back in the mix along with her cutting and sometimes brutal take on things was proving to be quite entertaining—as long as her snarky attitude wasn’t aimed at him.

“Technically, he’s right, dear,” his mom comically stated.

Sophie dropped her jaw and laughed. “My own aunt is taking his side?”

His father laughed heartily and shrugged. “We’re tequila people, Soph. You know that! Don’t have a dog in this fight.”

Finn struck an arms-crossed pose and declared, “Since I’m the only one bringing a professional opinion to this matter, let me state in unequivocal terms that Glenfiddich is for pussies.”

Sophie’s scoffing comeback was met with snickers of delight. “You bought a bar, Beantown. Not graduated with honors from Liquor University.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that Glenfiddich is for …”

He didn’t get to finish because she walloped him in the gut and stormed off.

Parker chuckled and tossed Finn O’Brien a smirky grin. “So I guess Beantown is the official nickname?”

Finn glared at him but didn’t speak fast enough, giving Parker a chance to get one good shot.

“Isn’t the name courtesy of your girlfriend?” The glare deepened. “By the way, where is Remington?”

If no one were standing around, Parker was sure he would have answered differently, but since there were several witnesses, Finn kept it short and simple.

“She couldn’t make it.”

“Oh, right.” Parker sniggered with a mocking smile. “She’s babysitting Lady FiFi, right?”

Angie squeezed the fucking life from his fingers and pursed her lips. If she wanted him to apologize or back off, she was in for a surprise.

A virtual standoff ensued. His mom and dad left them to it while he brought his lawyer stare to the proceedings and tried topping the stupid Irish shit. Unfortunately, the belligerent douche canoe relished the potential for a smackdown and refused to alter his stance.

“Okay, you two,” Angie muttered darkly. “Enough.”

He snorted and gave Finn a menacing look.

“I’m serious,” she barked with a smack on his arm, and a finger wagged in the other guy’s face. “Stop. Now. You’re both being ridiculous.”

Nobody rubbed him wrong like this guy did.

“Shake hands and be nice.”

Parker started to say something snappy, but she cut him off. “Swear to god. Shake or die. Calder is watching, and if you invite …”

He didn’t need to hear another word. His hand went out. “Mea culpa, Beantown. Wrong place, wrong time.”

Angie hissed, and Finn reluctantly took his hand, asking, “What size shoe do you wear?”

Parker blinked. Huh?

“Your shoes, Sullivan? What size?”

“Thirteen? And a half.” He dropped Finn’s hand and cocked his head to the side. “Why?”

“Gonna train my dog to piss on any size thirteen shoes she sees.”

Angie exploded with laughter.

“Thank you, boys. I needed that.” She tapped his arm and drew him forward. “Come on. I hear music. Let’s see what everyone’s up to.”

He gestured to Finn with two fingers pointing at his eyes and then the other guy’s face—just to let him know he was watching him.

Beantown flipped him off.

* * *

Calder couldn’t stop referring to Stephanie as his wife, and as for seeing anything or anybody else except her? Pfft. As if!

He watched her move around the room, stopping to talk with everyone as she made the rounds. It was the third or fourth time she’d done the same thing, but this time, instead of going with her, he’d begged off because he wanted to watch her. From across the room.

“Will you be staring at my bottom?” she asked with completely innocent seriousness.

He admitted it was a given.

“And what about this?” she asked as she patted her growing baby bump. “Will you be looking at this?”

“Yes.”

His wife grinned, made a tiny, sniggering pantomime of clapping, and said, “Okay.” Then she sashayed off, stopped to gather her train in one hand, winked at him, and went about her business.

He liked watching her. His interest had a voyeuristic feel to it. She was a people person—others were drawn to her genteel charm. Calder found it exciting to observe how others reacted to her.

She was his now. Had the ring, a piece of paper, and a baby on board as proof.

Stephanie Bennett was his wife.

No. Correction.

She was Stephanie Dane now.

His legally wedded and soon-to-be bedded wife.

She turned around and smiled at him as though having heard his thoughts. In the background, the sound of the baby grand piano drifted in the air. He’d recognize that sound anywhere. It was his sister making music. A rare and unexpected treat.

Discreetly motioning to his wife, he felt nothing but overwhelming happiness. She immediately joined him and took his hand.

“You summoned, husband?” Joyful silliness was evident in her voice.

Calder touched her wherever he could without going too far. “And you came running,” he teased.

Nothing was mysterious or confusing about the way she looked at him. If he wasn’t careful, the tears that rocked him sideways at the chapel would start again.

She clung to his hand and toyed with a button on his dress shirt. “I’d crawl over broken glass to be with you.”

A man could experience satisfaction in a hundred different ways throughout his lifetime. Calder’s knee-jerk reaction to her blunt admission delivered a new sort of satisfaction—one that ran deep and connected with his soul. This woman was meant to be his.

“Ash is at the piano,” he murmured softly while losing himself in his wife’s loving gaze. “Shall we go listen?”

“Oh,” she gasped. “Yes! Let’s.” She switched gears and started for the house. After four or five steps, she halted—turned to look at him and made a face. “What are you doing? I thought you said we should …”

A snicker rippled from his gut to his chest and out of his mouth. His eyes darted around them—nobody was paying attention. Good.

Cutting her off, he gave his wife a very suggestive leer. “Duchess, if you must know, I was enjoying the magnificence of my wife’s ass and imagining bending you over the picnic table, lifting your bridal gown, and peeling off what I hope are scandalously sheer panties.”

His wife smiled—blushed then bit her lip—then looked at the picnic table, and finally, rather pointedly at his crotch.

With a decidedly wicked gleam in her eyes, she stepped close and whispered, “Would now be a good time to admit I’m not wearing anything under this dress?”

That feeling? It was his eyes bugging out of his head. “Are you serious?”

She laughed and shook her head. “Shugah pie, honey love.”

Oh, my god. That was a new one. He beamed like the blinding spotlight on a cop car.

“Of course, I’m serious. Showing off our baby was priority one. I’m not about to let panty lines, muffin tops, or boob bulges ruin my devious plan.”

A warm flow of happiness ran through him when he responded. “Ah, there was a plan to all this then?”

The long lashes framing her beautiful eyes dipped for a second. Anytime she worked him over with her sly, Southern coquette act, a determined hard-on was the result. Anyone believing their sex drive diminished after fifty was an idiot.

Prepared for some playful teasing, he was left open-mouthed by her wicked response.

“Of course, there was a plan! Alex and I worked it out before I showed up. He said you were lonely and tired of having a relationship with your hand.” She gave him a cheeky shrug. “I was looking for a shugah daddy, and you checked all the boxes.”

As if on cue, Alex’s booming laughter wafted from inside the house to punctuate his wife’s outrageous taunt.

“Oh, I get it,” he mocked. “So Wolf Pup called in a heavy hitter.”

She chuckled. “He knew a beauty queen would, well … you know.”

My god but he adored this fantastic woman. She loved with her whole heart. Not even being widowed so young had dampened her fire. Stephanie was that rare person who looked for the good in people and lived a life that leaned toward joy and away from darkness.

Total reflex made his hand swat her butt. She jumped and made a little yelp. “What the hell was that for?”

He simply looked at her and let his expression fill in the blanks.

“Oh,” she murmured.

“Yes, oh.” Calder smirked and shook his head. “Tsk, tsk, Duchess. You knew what would happen when you threw down with the naked beneath the gown remark.”

She whispered in his ear. He absorbed her coos and purrs. “Do you want me to behave?”

“Until I get you alone, yes.”

“Then you have to make a promise.”

He picked up her hand and kissed the ring he placed there earlier. “Made one hell of a promise already, Mrs. Dane.”

Her sweet smile lit up his heart. “This is a honeymoon promise.”

“I can do that,” he answered confidently.

“Well, good.” She surreptitiously ran her hand over the front of his pants. When she finished, his wife had no doubt as to the strength of his lust for her.

Then she whispered a slew of dirty suggestions, framed them as promises, and smiled.

“Wait.” He chuckled. “You behave and do all that? What happens when you don’t behave?”

Her sultry laughter hung in the air. “Come on, you bad man.” She held her hand out, and he took it. “Let’s go soak up the love.”

Carmen smiled broadly when they walked through the kitchen. She was standing at the end of the hallway where Meghan’s new office and the pantry was located. Beside her, Duke Winston stood looking like a fish out of water. His graying ponytail was carefully brushed, and not one extraneous facial hair existed.

Calder had to smile and give her a thumbs-up. She was someone else in this lively bunch he’d known a long, long time. Looked to him like he and Carmen hit the jackpot in the grown-up love category.

Most everyone ended up in the large, grand foyer. The whole Villa was a study in Spanish architecture, but the huge open space with the arches, columns, and the wide, formal staircase was really something. Over the years, it had become the gathering place for many occasions.

Tucked just slightly beneath the curving staircase, the baby grand piano his sister was playing filled the two-story open space with rich sound.

His heart did a little dance. He loved Ashleigh more than he had words to say. Whenever she sat at the piano, he knew she was channeling their mother, who had instilled a great love of music in them. It was a gesture of love from sister to brother that she played for everyone now.

* * *

Sophie leaned on the piano and watched her mother’s long, expressive fingers dance across the keys. From her earliest days, the piano and her mom’s skill had entranced her. When she was older and started to understand the connection that her mom experienced whenever she played, the moments when the music took her over held emotional significance.

She did haunting justice to a famous Rachmaninoff rhapsody on a theme by Paganini that made tears gather in Sophie’s eyes because she knew how hard it was for her mom to gift them with that one.

Her dad stood protectively by Mom’s shoulder like a guardian. He knew too, and they looked at each other briefly.

Alexander was next. He took up the spot on the other side, looking Sophie in the eye. They breathed together for a long moment—both struggling.

Then Angie joined them. At Sophie’s side, she wrapped her arms around her. They clung to one another as the soft, emotional melody continued.

Eventually, Calder stood right behind Mom with his hand on her shoulder. Aunt Wendy and Uncle Matt moved in close. From the corner of her eye, she caught Carmen wiping away a tear.

When Mom finished, Calder sat on the bench and gathered her into an emotional hug. Stephanie and Sophie’s dad touched each of them with supportive strokes and pats.

A box of tissues made the rounds, and after a few minutes steeped with emotion, the joking around started. Sophie smiled. This was what they did as a family. Let the feelings come—give them space—and then afterward, they shared the emotion before a reset brimming with amusing foolishness.

It was what they did for her when the wheels came off. Instead of trying to fix her and a situation they didn’t fully comprehend, her family took a different approach. They circled the wagons and stood guard—showered her with unconditional love—and gave her the space and time she needed. They’d given her the gift of faith. Faith that she knew what was best for her. Considering what she’d been through, by not riding roughshod when they absolutely could have and taking her power away, they’d put Sophie on the road to healing.

Stroking her belly, she made a silent promise to her unborn son that she would always remember the lessons she learned from the ones who cared most—and make sure the same kind of love always surrounded him.

“All right,” she cheered to those assembled. “Raise your hand if it’s time to sing!”

“Did you call my name?” Parker hollered.

“No, you spotlight hound,” she quipped with a twisted sneer. “Let someone else have center stage, would you?”

Angie giggled and murmured quietly. “My bottom will be paying for that comment, sis.”

“You can thank me later,” Sophie answered with a smile.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Out of the way,” Meghan quipped. “Justice Ladies, assemble,” she exclaimed.

Mom vacated the piano bench and kissed Meghan after she sat down. “Show ‘em how we do it, honey.”

Meghan had this way of knowing exactly what was needed, and this time, she didn’t disappoint. There was only one way to follow up the haunting ode to loved ones long gone.

Her hands moved with certainty on the keys, and she found a soulful opening to “For a Dancer” and then added her voice. With the women bringing a quiet backing harmony, the song built until it engulfed the space with the joyful sound mentioned in the lyrics, and a shower of emotion rained down on them.

It was absolutely soul-searing perfection.

Then it was time to get the party started. Next thing they all knew, Parker’s guitar materialized. So did one of her brother’s electric guitars and a small amplifier. Informing Alex that he could go shit in his hat, Finn took control and shooed his brother-in-law to the side. “Pound on something,” he told him with a smirk.

Not to be outdone, her brother snapped his fingers to get his butt buddies to follow—disappeared for a few minutes and then reappeared with Drae and Cam pushing something oddly familiar into the foyer. When she got a better look at what they were doing, Sophie had a good laugh. So did their dad.

Meghan also laughed. “Oh, jeez. Look what he’s dragged from the crypt.”

When Alex was a teenager, he’d spent one entire summer bugging their parents to get him a drum set. Even then, his highhanded bullshit gave her a headache, and she got so sick of him bitching about it that she ended up begging them to shut him up.

So they did. With a cheesy starter Ludwig drum kit that he treated like a gift from the gods. She was astonished he still had it—especially considering she’d been in his studio and had seen the massive drum set with the enormous Zildjian gong as big as his damn ego behind it.

Tambourines were secured, and Uncle Matt ran to his car and came back with a harmonica.

Angie took over on the piano and addressed everyone. Her fingers tickled the keys as she began. “I know the perfect song. Something for the baby boomers. 1968, I think. This one’s for our resident daydream believer and his very pregnant homecoming queen.”

Knowing the song her sister referenced, Sophie threw back her head and laughed as she clapped her hands enthusiastically.

“The Monkees,” her dad and Uncle Matt hollered with glee as they belted out a spirited version of “Daydream Believer.”

One thing led to another, and the usual snark broke out until Matt, her dad, and Calder ripped out a comical version of “California Girls” while Wendy and her mom strutted their stuff.

I love this, she thought. I love this crazy, half a bubble off plumb bunch of weirdos bound together by more than the ties of blood. A sense of certainty squeezed her heart. She was right to come home. Right to want her baby born into this caldron of love and goodwill.

Every person in this room had a story, and not every page contained happiness. There’d been sorrow and loss. Tragedy and regret too. Some carried secrets and others spent their lives in atonement. It didn’t matter to any of them that she was a bit crinkly and damaged around the edges. They loved her anyway just as she loved them.

Even that swaggering asshole Finn O’Brien. She gave the handsome Irishman some side shade while admitting that yeah—he fit perfectly.

Champagne for those who could and sparkling grape juice for those who shouldn’t passed around freely. At some point, Carmen and a stern-faced Duke wheeled in a cart covered with round two of the wedding cake and are-you-kidding desserts. Before long, plates, napkins, and glasses littered the foyer. Just the way her grandparents liked it when family and friends were around.

Since the in-concert portion of the festivities was being dominated by the old heads, they were treated to Uncle Ed in his famous John Lennon imitation throwing down with “Mr. Postman.” She was used to the Father Eduardo-Uncle Ed morphing. It was what she grew up with, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t funny when others couldn’t seem to find their footing around a man who wore a religious collar one second and five minutes later sported a Grateful Dead t-shirt and jeans. Always amusing.

Her uncle could pull off a wickedly believable British accent, and his pitch-perfect impersonation of anything remotely connected to the British Invasion of the music world in the 1960’s led to her dad needling him until he did a goofy Herman’s Hermits song “I’m Into Something Good” complete with hand claps and go-go dancers. The ladies really got into it too!

Showing the Supremes how it was done, Stephanie, Aunt Wendy, and her mom sang “Stop! In the Name of Love” over everyone’s whoops and hollers. The last-second choreography was standard beauty queen protocol. Her new aunt was an interesting lady.

Sophie paid close attention to Stephanie’s face when Calder sat at the baby grand. The room grew quiet and listened when he sang “The Pretender.” It was his signature song, a personal anthem, and until this very day, she didn’t realize how important the words were. But now her beloved uncle had found someone to fill in the missing colors, and the song took on new significance.

When it got late, and every song they could think of was exhausted, the celebration ended with a lively, extended “Don’t Stop.” And it got loud with all the tambourines and such!

It was a true miracle that she never stopped thinking about tomorrow. Even at her darkest moment, a glimmer still existed. Zippy shone a spotlight on her feelings when he danced in her womb to the joyful sound.

Happiness filled Sophie as the night came to an end. Stephanie and Uncle Calder’s wedding had been the intimate, romantic moment the happy couple wanted. Her parents were so over the moon for them that Sophie’s heart nearly burst from their joy. Maybe there was something to what her dad kept saying. That love came when we least expected it and sometimes, it waited until hope got old.

She looked for Carmen and found her wearing a sly smile as her wedding date helped drape a shawl over her shoulders. A small sigh escaped Sophie’s mouth, and she pressed a hand against her heart. It was so fucking sweet to see the dear woman find her happiness.

Commotion ensued as people started taking their leave. Some were scattering like confetti in the wind now that the wedding was over. Uncle Ed was hanging around through the weekend, but the Camerons and St. Johns were heading out almost immediately. Calder and Stephanie were leaving whenever. He’d chartered a private plane to take them to their top-secret honeymoon destination.

Maybe she’d pay a visit to the stables tomorrow after things had quieted down and pretend to give a crap about the horses. She rode. Pretty damn well, too. You couldn’t grow up the way she had and not be a capable rider. But horses and the whole hanging around the barn thing had never appealed to her.

However, she mused while waving at the departing guests, if Jace was running the stable show, it might be worth a visit.